Sunday, July 21, 2019
Ananya Guha writes
Love, Death and Borders
Inscribed in letters is fetish of love
Inscribed in blood is the aroma of taste
A body withers with the mind
armed with gun shots, myopia deadens
into death a forever being of love.
My mind beats, hammers the soil.
What is so deathly about death?
Minutes morph into lifelessness
and love stoops to think
and reclaim all goriness associated
Borders are our homes
we are without borders
homes are in borders
houses are not.
They are everywhere
and love and death.